I hear the best werewolves are bilingual
                 that there are wordstones inlaid in their cheeks
                 with which their teeth stay sharp
                 that their forked tongues can translate
                 days into nights, nights into days.

In my mouth is an enduring summer solstice
where dawn follows dusk in such rapid succession
I barely taste the night.

When I howl my voice no longer carries
My teeth do not break skin.

This poem has been published as part of our 2013 fund drive bonus issue! Read more about Strange Horizons' funding model, or donate, here.